False Alarm.

I'm embarrassed to say it, but yesterday I entered hospital again. This time though, I really thought I was in early labour.

Things with Avalon's labour were tough, but at least I knew that labour had started. My waters broke with her, and contractions started very obviously straight afterwards.

This next girl is totally confusing me. I've had painful braxton hicks since entering into hospital last Sunday, and this Saturday (marking 38 weeks, 1 day) I felt them intensify.

My parents and I were on a conference in the city, so we were staying in a hotel along with Avalon for the night. Avy woke earlier than usual due to the unusual surrounds (6am) and I just thought I'd bring her into bed so I could lie and snuggle for another half hour if she'd let me.

Avy happily obliged and, very tired herself, nuzzled into me and hugged my arm while letting out contented coos next to me.

It must have been all that love that brought on the hicks more intensely, because I needed to grab my watch and start timing the period pain and lower back pain intervals. They were exactly 10 minutes apart.

I only needed to wait for 30 minutes before my parents got up, and I mistakenly informed them that I think labour may have started.

This sent my Mum into a flurry of excitement. I told her that she needed to calm down, they were well spaced, we can even attend some morning sessions of the conference before heading home. I was still getting these pains after sitting up and even taking my mind off them, so I was pretty assured that this was the real thing.

A few hours later, we did head home, although by this time I was starting to get wary. Why weren't they intensifying? If anything, they were duller than before. Hmm. Oh well, better get home.

On the way back in the car they went to 8 minutes and 10 minutes apart, but some were really like contractions, and others just felt like tightenings. What's going on?

Several kms away from home, they ramped up again and I felt for sure now that I'd probably just stalled my labour with worry. Once I got home, things'll progress like they should. I called Craig, the bags were packed, we were ready.

After having a bath at home, my pain left entirely. I was still having tightenings regularly (10 minutes then 8 minutes) but the back pain had left. There was now no way of knowing if i was in labour or not. I called the midwives and they told me to come in for a checkup.

We went in. Yes, tightenings regularly were monitored (maybe spaced to longer than 10 minutes now though) and peaking twice in some goes, making the tightenings last for over 2 minutes. But, after an examination, they told me it wasn't labour. Nothings going on down there. These must just be braxton hicks. Regular braxton hicks. That are sometimes painful and feel like early labour. What the???

So now I'm more clueless than ever, and slightly embarrassed seeing as how I have been through this before, and I should know better. I'm still feeling sheepish about it, but then again, these "braxton hicks" have now been around for a whole week.

It makes me wonder if this time I will have my baby in the shower. I could be one of those stories you hear about on the emergency 000 tv shows. 'Mum too stupid to know she was in labour because of previous false alarms'. How embarrassing. 

I guess only time will tell if this baby will make a quick entrance into the world or a slow one. All I know is that I will most likely be completely clueless. The mothering "instinct" is lost on this one!

Unexpected stay

Craig and I have had a hospital tour on our "to do list" for a while now. Seeing as how the tour is held on a Sunday at 2pm (terribly inconvenient for Church Pastors), this task has stayed on the list for a while, awaiting a Sunday afternoon in between services where Craig has no other responsibilities or meetings to attend to.

So when we went for our tour last Sunday, I was feeling under the weather. Fainty and nauseated, and with painful braxton hicks, I thought that I should probably just mention it to the midwives after the tour.

Needless to say, I was a little surprised when our "checkup" turned into an overnight stay, with me hooked up to heart monitors and a saline drip. They thought I was probably dehydrated, because sometimes that can cause labour like symptoms and increased heart rate. After being forced to drink 2 litres of water (which really helped the nausea!) and 2 litres of intravenous saline later, that idea was replaced with another. 

Maybe I have a virus?

The quickest blood tests I have ever received (40 minutes) later, and they are none the wiser. Nothing showed up. Healthy all round. Except that my heart rate was over 100 and little bubs was over 210. The midwives shared concerned, meaningful looks amongst themselves.

They deliberated for hours. Should we cut her open and get this baby out, or shouldn't we?

Being a couple of days over 37 weeks, they kept passing the buck. Superiors and then superiors to superiors were sent into my room, each time standing beside my bed and pouring over the 4 - 5 hours of trace that had been pumped out of the machine beside me.

It was a frightening place to be in. Firstly, because I wanted to scream to them "you're not cutting me open without my approval!" and then realising that they were the experts here, and thinking that there is a possibility that they could save my daughter's life. How did I know what was best for my child at that point?

It was a daunting few hours. For someone like me, who loves answers and research, and well thought through decisions, it was excruciating.

I prayed many times. Not just about the baby's health, but also about accepting whatever was in store for me. What comfort it brought to me, knowing that there was a reason to all of this happening, and a God who is orchestrating all of this for my good. To better me somehow. To  stretch me and force me to rely on him in the unknown.

The specialists decided to wait a little longer till they assessed my situation again. A few hours passed and whatever was ailing me subsided. Our heartrates were lowering to a more "acceptable" level. They scheduled 2 ultrasounds to check for placental bleeds (of which none were found), and I got to see my gorgeous baby at 37 weeks for free. Twice!

Once my fainting episodes subsided, I enjoyed some alone time in the ward (which was well needed) and also some mandatory bed rest, which despite the rock hard beds, could still be counted as a blessing from the Lord. My parents looked after little Avalon till well into the next day, and despite throwing up the breakfast, I did get to enjoy and keep down a rather delightful "cooked" lunch which I didn't prepare myself.

So the bottom line- they let me go. Hooray! I thought they may keep me in there for weeks after being "double checked" a thousand times before releasing me.

And all in all the hospital extended visit was a real bonus for me. God helped me to deal with my fear of a caesarean, I saw my already chubby 3.4kg baby twice, received a cooked lunch and free babysitting, and several hours of uninterrupted time with my husband (which was the best gift of all. He's altogether lovely!) With the added bonus of now feeling very comfortable at the hospital, which I now know won't stall my labour heading in.

My God really does know how to give me good gifts- even when on the outset it looks like a nightmare. 

So now I'm home and happy and feeling very connected to this second life God's placed inside me. I can't wait to see her for real.

Guilt

I don't think there's anything I've ever experienced that brings me greater guilt than when I can't fulfill my duties as a mother.

I'm writing this while I listen to Avalon with hysterical tears dripping down her face. I've patted her for long enough to get a severe case of heartburn and aching legs that feel as though the veins will explode if i don't give them some time out. And unfortunately, 10 minutes patting and rubbing her while leaning over the cot is the best I can do with my pregnant limitations at the moment. It's such a shame that this is a repeat scenario every Friday and Sunday night when Craig's out and can't assist. It's almost as though she knows.

So I'm sitting here, trying to regain some type of strength so I can head back in and do some more stroking before my legs and arms give way under the strain of carrying another child.

I guess it's times like this where I sometimes think it would be so much easier to have a 3 year old and be in this situation. There's much less guilt when they're fully aware of what is required of them and they have the developed mind to understand what is meant by "it's time to sleep".

Needless to say, I've had a straining day today and I'm feeling more than a little sorry for myself, as Ava has only had 20 minutes sleep all day, and myself, 10. 

Ok, I'm gonna head back in to the zone and try to permeate calmness out of my pores despite feeling like I've been listening to nails down a chalkboard for the last month. (deep breath)

Glimpses of a life once known well.

Tonight, Craig and I enjoyed a rare night out alone.

Sure, it was just a movie, Subway and a coffee, but to me, that spells bliss and romance.

I think when we first got engaged, this is how I imagined our entire existence as a couple would be. Nights out and about, dinners with friends. City adventures. Things like that.

And for a lot of our relationship, we've had that together. And it's been liberating and enjoyable and refreshing.

Now that we're in baby-making mode (see exhibit A), our time together and out as a couple has changed hugely.

Thankfully, we've been able to adapt so far to accept the loss of freedoms. Our adventures are much more localised, though still fun to the same degree, and our friends have had to adapt to the changes, too. Not everyone wants to sit around on our lounge all night/day and call it an "outing". But I can put into perspective this stage of life and see that, whilst limiting, is also just another season in the ebb and flow of our existence.

I have to remember that as long as Craig and I are still maintaining a relationship, it doesn't really matter what setting we're a part of. We can be at home having some nice chitchats or at a fancy restaurant looking over the harbour, but essentially, we just have to talk and listen.

If we can do both of those things, God will continue to enrich our relationship together.

So, tonight, under a starless sky, i looked over at my husband. A man who amazes me everyday. He can preach God's helpful words to teenagers and yet still find the headspace to answer my convoluted doctrinal questions at night. He can wake up in the morning with energy out of sheer will to entertain our beloved daughter while I get some chores done, and then go on to spend the rest of his day and night trying to be helpful to people in their friendship with our Lord.

I'm totally in love with him still, and with this new parenting stage of life, I see further into the depths of his character and my breath is taken away all over again. I am very blessed to have him as my husband, and as he grows in love to God, I reap the benefits of God moulding his mind and heart. 

We grow up

You know what? We grow up incredibly fast. All of us, not just as kids.

Last week I celebrated my 27th birthday. And even though the years do keep ticking over, it's hard to see the meadow for the wildflowers. But I think if i look really hard, I can make out change. I can see progress. Maybe people aren't noticing the usual "growing up" stuff, like talking or walking being mastered (sometimes my husband wonders if I did actually pass these milestones or whether I cheated on the test). But despite my undeniably clumsy nature and "lost for words" moments, i think I've changed every year.

God has put before me new experiences to deal with in his grace. New frustrations to test my patience. New disappointments to overcome and see with perspective. And all these moments add up to something I think which goes deeper than developmental milestone "growing up" phases. These things contribute to our character. And how we respond to these life tests push us to have more graceful characters, or harsher ones. We may choose to take the disappointments and dwell on them. To seek refuge in the dark places in life. Depression can feel oddly comforting, like a cold friend. 

But the hard part of these tests is to look to those around you in the midst of them. To see someone else's life as greater than your own. To see them be supported or grown, or nurtured by you despite the circumstances.

Only by doing this is our characters shaped more like Jesus, and our lives bear the mark of Jesus' impact on them. Only if our characters are shaped by Jesus as our model can we say that we are truly growing. Because God made life, and only if we live like him can we say that we lived it fully and so achieved it's ultimate purpose as defined by God.

God, I'm ok to not be wrapped in cotton wool. I don't want my life to be a waste. Let me live it as it's meant to be lived, where I put others first and my own feelings and selfishness last. 

I've been given tests before. I don't know how well I did at them or not, i guess i'll find out at the end. But I know my growth as a person is only just starting. Because now that I have the ability to think and reflect, God will use these skills to push me further. To develop me further. So that I can progress in life from the pureed fruit and farex to the Chicken schnitzel and pasta.

So be prepared everyone, because I think that the last stages of life growth are far more impressive than the first few. Get yourselves ready for the change ahead!